


The Oak of Bag End

by Lobo_Loca



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drabble, M/M, The Acorn, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobo_Loca/pseuds/Lobo_Loca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bilbo spends his first day back in Bag End tidying. He sweeps up rubbish, closes cabinets and drawers hanging open, hangs the few pictures left lying around after he chased off the auctioneer and greedy Hobbits. He finishes just before sunset and surveys his tidy but empty Hobbit-hole. His eyes land on his pack and he remembers the acorn he picked up at Beorn’s house.</p>
<p>The acorn Thorin had promised Bilbo would get home to plant.</p>
<p>And he had, but at a cost far too great."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oak of Bag End

**Author's Note:**

> Found this little drabble while digging through my fanfic folders, aka procrastinating on my final paper. Since it was doing no good gathering dust, I thought I'd share.

Bilbo spends his first day back in Bag End tidying. He sweeps up rubbish, closes cabinets and drawers hanging open, hangs the few pictures left lying around after he chased off the auctioneer and greedy Hobbits. He finishes just before sunset and surveys his tidy but empty Hobbit-hole. His eyes land on his pack and he remembers the acorn he picked up at Beorn’s house.

The acorn Thorin had promised Bilbo would get home to plant.

And he had, but at a cost far too great.

Bilbo opens his pack with a trembling hand and carefully lifts out his extra clothes, the map, a few books copied from manuscripts in the Erebor and Rivendell libraries, and the acorn from the very bottom of his bag.

Unlike Bilbo, the acorn is unchanged from the acorn it had been in Erebor, still glossy and smooth with a sturdy brown cap.

He has no spade or trowel at the moment, but that doesn’t deter Bilbo in the least. He takes the acorn to a little corner of Bag End’s yard, in plain view of his study. Kneeling on the grass, he sets aside the acorn and digs his hands into the earth. He tears one of his fingers nails digging the small hole, but he pays no attention to it as he gently rests the acorn lengthwise in the ground and covers it loosely with soil.

Bilbo sits back on his heels and stares at the small mound of disturbed dirt before he stumbles to his feet and heads back inside to find his watering can.

)

Two months of watchful care later, the acorn sprouts. Bilbo nearly weeps, and spends the day shut in his study with a tumbler of brandy at his elbow as he writes and rewrites letters to a departed friend who will never read them.

)

One year becomes two and two years become three. The Hobbits call him Mad Baggins, and Bilbo does not try to sway them otherwise. His days are spent tending his garden and his oak, and his nights he gives to his correspondence, his books, and the odd guest who drops by.

The acorn has grown into a young sapling, nearly as tall as Bilbo now.

His unsent letters have a trunk of their own, hidden under piles of papers and mountains of books.

)

Five years after planting the acorn, Bilbo’s trunk of letters is filled to the brim, refusing to shut without great effort, and he decides enough is enough. He hauls the trunk to the foot of the oak tree which stretches a foot over his head. He pulls out the first letter from four years ago and begins to read. He reads each and every one of them, even as his voice grows hoarse.

“But of all my regrets,” Bilbo reads softly, voice breaking over the words, “my greatest will always be that I never told you I loved you with this fool heart of mine.”

A rough voice answers him, “And that, my dear burglar, is a regret we both share.”

)

“—those damn Sackville-Baggins, I tell you. Can’t be bothered to wait until I die to get my silverware. Lobelia is the worst of the lot—always nattering on with her snide remarks and inviting herself over for tea. I ought to invite some Dwarves over, that would—” Bilbo rants in the shade of his tall shielding oak, hands waving with irritation.

“Uncle,” Frodo interrupts, appearing nearly out of thin air at Bilbo’s elbow. Bilbo has no idea how the faunt does it, but one of these he is going to give Bilbo a bloody heart attack. “Who are you talking to?”

Bilbo looks back at the oak tree, where Thorin’s spectre leans against the bark and gives Bilbo a sad smile before melting into wisps of smoke carried away by the wind.

“An old friend,” Bilbo says, thumbing an exposed root. “A very dear old friend.”

)

Although Bilbo can neither see nor feel nor hear her, Yavanna pets Bilbo’s greying hair and presses a light kiss to the crown of his head as she murmurs, “It was not supposed to end this way.”

Aulë, standing stoically beside her, turns his head to the southeast. “No, but what has come to pass cannot be changed. While it can never be enough, this is all we are able to offer them.”

 

 

 

Feel free to come distract me on [Tumblr](http://loboloca.tumblr.com/).


End file.
